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THE (J .j< / ■ : 



FAIRY'S SEARCH, 



OTHER POEMS. 

BY 

MRS. EMELINE S. SMITH. 



" Flowers are the alphabet of angels, 

** Wherewith they write on hills and plains 

•' Mysterious truths." 



NEW YORK : 

NAFIS & CORNISH, 278 PEARL STREET, 

AND NAFIS, CORNISH & CO., 

St. Louis, Mo. 



T5 a>?^ 
5 ^-^ 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1847, 

By NAFIS & CORNISH, 

In the Clerk's office of the District Court for the 

Southern District of New York. 



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STEREOTYPED 

BY VINCENT DILL, JR., 

17 ANN-ST., N. T. 



PREFACE. 



The desire of imparting to others the 
gratification we derive from pleasing ob- 
jects is a natural impulse. In response 
to that feeling, and with the desire to awa- 
ken in the minds of others that peculiar 
sentiment of affection w^hich the writer 
feels for flowers, the "Fairy's Search" was 
written. To her they have not only been 
cheerful companions in happy hours and 
soothing consolers in moments of afflic- 
tion, but wise and eloquent instructors 5 
and could she but reveal to others the 
beautiful truths which they have taught 
to her, this little volume instead of being 
what it now is, would be an offering wor- 
thy the acceptance of all. But as it is, 



she only hopes to dash from the " wild 
sweet blossoms" some of the fragrance of 

" These children of the sun and shower," 

and to faintly shadow forth scenes in 
which flowers have been the ministering 
angels portrayed in the little story she 
offers to the public under the name of 
the "Fairy's Search." 



CONTENTS. 



The Fairy's Search, 9 

The American Indians, 61 

The Mother's Hymn to the Departed, . . 54 

The Happy Band, 66 

Removal of the Remains of Napoleon, . . 60 

Sunlight and Shadow, 62 

We've had our Share of Bliss, .... 65 

A Portrait, 67 

Genius, 70 

American Liberty, . . . . . . 71 

The Spirit of Spring, 73 

The Stormy Petrel 76 

Twilight Musings, . . . ' . . .79 

Summer, . . ' 81 

The Rover's Serenade, 84 

The Departed Spirit of Youth, . . . 86 

The Past, 89 

Coleridge 90 

Books . . .91 

Solitude, 92 

An Indian Mother's Love, 93 

Ode for the 4th of July, 95 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Mother to her Child, 97 

Lost Treasures, 100 

Song 103 

The Beacon, 105 

Dirge for a Departing Race, . . . .109 

Hymn to the Deity, 112 

The Three Homes, 114 

Youth, ........ 115 

Stanzas, 117 

Song, lis 

Thekla at her Lover's Grave, . . . .120 

The Soldier's Wife, 122 

Crowning of Corinne, 124 

Poesy, 128 



TO 

EVERY TRUE LOVER OF FLOWERS, 

THE LOVELIEST GIFTS OF NATURE, 

THESE HUMBLE BLOSSOMS OF THOUGHT, 

BOUND TOGETHER BY A SLENDER THREAD 

OF POESY, 

ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 

E. S. S. 



OTHER POEMS, 



THE FAIRY'S SEARCH. 

The fragrant shade of a rose-clad bower 

Was a Fairy's chosen home, 

Where she gaily passed each summer hour 

With never a wish to roam ; 

Her chief delight was to watch with care 

The beautiful buds unfolding there, 

And guard, from every blighting spell, 

The blossoms that she loved so well. 

Her presence was a magic charm 

That banished every power of harm ; 



10 THE fairy's search. 

No wandering footstep dare intrude 

To mar that pleasant solitude ; 

No mortal hand could pluck a flower 

That bloomed in that enchanted bower ; 

No evil influence could appear 

While she, the guardian, lingered near. 

But needful, as the breath of Spring 

Is to the Violet's blossoming, 

Was her protecting power. 

Alas I for the Fay ! 
One tranquil night she was lured away 
From that sweet home. A merry band 
Of sister Fairies, hand in hand, 
Came dancing to her rosy bower, 
And tempted her, in evil hour, 
To hie afar to a silvery stream 
To revel and sport 'neath the moon's bright 
beam. 

'Twas such an eve as Fairies love — 
All cloudless smiled the heaven above, 
And gentle zephyrs wandered by 
With the witching tone of a lover's sigh, 
Or paused awhile, in their wayward flight, 



THE fairy's search. 11 



To kiss some flower of brightest bloom, 
Which received the caress in mute delight, 
Then paid it back in a breath of perfume. 
The minstrel night-bird's plaintive song 
So sweetly broke o'er dewy plains 
That echo kept the music long, 
Then sent it forth in softer strains ; 
So calm the sleeping waters lay, 
So true they mirror'd back the glow 
Of sky and moon and starry ray, 
There seem'd another heaven below, 
As pure, as fair, as full of love 
As the blue boundless heaven above. 

'Mid scene thus fair, the sportive Fay 
Forgot her treasures far away, 
And hngered late, and listened long 
To pleasure's soft beguiling song, 
Until its witching cadence stole 
Like fascination o'er her soul. 
She woke as dreamers oft-times wake 
From some dear vision of delight, 
When morn's intruding footsteps break 
The airy structures of the night ; 



12 THE fairy's search. 

She woke from rapture's thrilling charm, 
To thoughts of care and fears of harm. 
With sad forebodings for her bower, 
Neglected since the twilight hour. 
She left the Fairies' magic ring, 
And, like a bird on tireless wing, 
Flew fast away — but morning's eye 
Looked brightly o'er the eastern sky 
Ere she regain'd her home. Ah ! then, 
How sadly chang'd appear'd the scene ! 
How dark, how desolate and lone. 
Like some deserted garden bound 
Where Autumn winds, in mournful tone, 
Wail o'er the wither'd leaflets strown 
In saddest ruin round. 
Some daring hand had stripp'd the bower 
Of every beauteous bud and flower, 
And borne them all away. 
Far off, amid the busy crowd 
Of a throng'd city, now they smil'd. 
And pleas'd the happy and the proud,^ 
Or solaced sorrow's child. 

As storm-clouds pass o'er summer skies. 



THE fairy's search. 13 

Dimming their gay and brilliant dyes, 

So pass'd the gloomy shade of woe 

Across the Fairy's radiant brow ; 

Awhile she gazed, in mute despair, 

Around her dwelling once so fair ; 

Awhile she mus'd ; awhile she mourn'd 

Upon the wreck and ruin near her : 

But soon, like dawning light, returned 

Hope's gentle smile to cheer her : 

And she resolv'd, despite the pain 

Or peril such attempt might cost, 

To roam thro' many a varied scene 

In search of the sweet flowers she'd lost. 

Then, quick as thought, she plum'd her wing, 

And, like a rosy cloud of even 

Floating upon the breath of Spring, 

Rose gracefully to the blue Heaven, 

And soar'd away. Onward she flew 

O'er hill and vale and streamlet blue, 

Nor paus'd until she spied afar. 

Soft gleaming thro' the lucid air. 

The city's towers and temples fair. 

With joy she hails the welcome sight ; 

And, wearied with her rapid flight. 



14 THE fairy's search. 

She gladly gains a lofty tower, 

And folds- the drooping wing, whose power 

Is for a season lost. With timid mien 

She looks upon the wildering scene 

That meets her eye below. 

A motley crowd, a mingled throng 

Move slowly by, or sweep along 

Like clouds when wild winds blow. 

Misfortune's child, with pallid face, 

And wasted form and weary pace, 

Moves on beside the rich and great, 

Whose happier brows and haughtier state 

In mournful contrast shine. 

Old Age with furrow'd brow, and eye 

Dim with the shadowy mist of Time ; 

Youth, radiant as the cloudless sky 

Of Summer in its prime ; 

And sportive childhood, fresh and gay, 

As blossoms in the morning's beam. 

All mingle in that crowded way, 

Like beings of a dream. 

Long gaz'd the Fay, with wondering eye. 
And half forgot the flowers she sought. 



THE fairy's search. 15 

Till a soft breeze that wander'd by, 
Their well known perfume brought : 
And now she sees a radiant throng 
Of youths and maidens sweep along. 
Their forms are deck'd in raiment bright ; 
Their brows are beaming with delight ; 
Their footsteps move to joyous measure ; 
Their hearts are tuned to notes of pleasure- 
So g their smiles, so pure their mirth, 
Thc^ eem not children of the earth. 
But brighter, happier spirits, come 
From some far-off, celestial home, 
Some realm where rapture reigns supreme. 
And life is all one blissful dream. 
They dwell, in truth, in such a sphere — 
Youth's fairy land ! — Ah, never fear. 
Or care, or sorrow's hand. 
Can touch the dwellers of that clime ; 
Secure in pleasure's spells they stand. 
Defying all save Time ! 

The gay ones pause beside the church ; 
Each bows a reverent head. 
And passes 'neath the lofty arch, 



16 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



With slow and solemn tread. 

With folded wing ^nd noiseless pace, 

The Fay, too, seeks that worship-place ; 

Enters, and marks with mute surprise, 

The holy scene that meets her eyes. 

Before the sacred altar stand 

A noble youth and gentle maid ; — 

Eye meeting eye, and hand in hand. 

And truth on either brow displayed. 

They seem, by Heaven, design'd to move 

Together o'er life's rugged way, 

That clouded path, which wedded love 

Can render radiant as the day. 

Fair was the bride ; — youth's holy charm 

Lent all its witchery to her form ; 

And beauty's deepest spell was seen 

In down-cast eye and modest mien. 

A graceful robe of stainless white 

Fell round her, as the moon's soft light 

Falls o'er the earth in cloudless night. 

A floating veil of silvery hue. 

Whose folds, her brow look'd lovelier through, 

Hung, like the mist on mountain side, 

And heighten'd charms it sought to hide. 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



17 



A cluster of white roses lay 
Upon her bosom's snowy vest, 
And well the graceful things became, 
Their beauteous place of rest. 

In truth, it was a holy sight 

To see that youthful maiden there, 

With heart so fond and hopes so bright, 

With form and soul ahke so fair. 

Breathing in accents, firm though low. 

Affection's sweetest, holiest vow. 

Ah I wedlock is a hallow'd ray 

To cheer us on our pilgrim way ; 

It adds to bliss a brighter beam. 

And softens even sorrow's dream. 

That sacred fetter of the heart 

Is dear in Hymen's early hours, 

When Earth still wears its Eden light, 

And life is yet a feast of flowers ; 

But better, loftier, hoher far, 

Is the fond tie in later years, 

When it becomes the changeless star 

That guides us thro' " a vale of tears." 

Then, like the rainbow's brilliant dyes. 



18 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



It brightens e'en the stormiest skies. 

The vows are said ; the twain are one ; 

The bridal band have tani'd away ; — 

Like some bright dream, when sleep is gone, 

Fades now the vision gay. 

The Fairy, who, with tearful eye, 

Had mark'd the solemn rite, 

Turns from the scene, with gentle sigh, 

Thus musing on the flow'rets bright 

That deck'd the beauteous bride ; 

" So lovingly they seem'd to rest 

" Upon her fair and sinless breast, 

" I could not take them thence — for there, 

" More bright than in my bower they were ; 

" Methought they look'd as born to grace 

" Her radiant form and blooming face — 

" The gentle sunlight of her eye 

" Beam'd o'er them like the genial sky, 

" And seem'd their native ray ; 

'^ Her balmy sighs play'd round their leaves, 

" As, in the hush of summer eves, 

" The whispering south winds play ; 

" And from her glowing cheek they won 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



19 



" A hue, like that the setting sun 

" Sheds o'er the smiling earth : — 

" 'Twas well to deck that lovely bride 

" With my sweet flowers : for thus allied 

" To beauty, purity and worth, 

" They seem'd, indeed, like gifts divine, 

" Plac'd on a fair and fitting shrine, 

" As offerings to Heaven." 

The wandering Fay 
Now plum'd her wing and soar'd away. 
As on she flew, hope^s witching strain 
Awakened pleasant thoughts again, 
And bade her seek in other scenes 
The treasures of her bower 
She paus'd within a narrow street 
Where day's bright smile but faintly fell ; 
Where Heaven's pure air could rarely greet 
The pallid beings doom'd to dwell 
Within that gloomy bound. 
With noiseless tread she trac'd her way 
O'er creaking step, and passage grey 
With the dark hues of Time. 
She gain'd at length a humble room. 
Whose cheerless air of sombre gloom 



20 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



Might well befit the lonely cell 

Where world-forgetting hermits dwell ; 

There, gazing timidly aromid, 

The objects of her search she found ; 

And o'er them bendeth one whose brow 

Wears the high impress stamp'd by thought, 

Whose eye is kindled by the glow 

From the pure flame of genius caught. 

With looks that rapturous feelings tell 

He gazes on the flowers before him ; 

They seem, like some magician's spell, 

To bid enchantment hover o'er him. 

And mark, as oft aside he turns 

To trace his thoughts upon the page, 

With holier light his dark eye burns 

And loftier dreams his soul engage. 

Doth not the pale brow'd student find. 

In those fair, fragrant things, 

A hidden charm that wakes his mind 

To glorious imaginings ? 

He is an ardent worshipper 

At Nature's sacred shrine. 

But kept, by adverse fortune, far 

From all her works divine, 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



21 



His spirit pines like prison'd bird, 

Till wishes wild and vain are stirr'd 

Within his restless mind. 

He longs to be away, away. 

By lofty mount or verdant plain, 

And feel the breath of Heaven play 

Fresh o'er his fever'd brain ; 

He longs to catch a living beam 

From Nature's radiant eye. 

To light his soul's poeti© dream 

With inspiration high ! 

But ah ! he vainly longs for this — 

Not his the lot, not his the bliss. 

To dwell where he might rove at will 

By murmuring stream or mossy hill. 

And feel their charms his spirit thrill 

With thought's sublimest strains. 

And thus, denied the lot he loves, 

He feels as exil'd from his home. 

And cherishes the lowliest thing 

That can a shadowy picture bring 

Of the beloved and beauteous scenes 

He visits only in his dreams. 

Thus flowers, to him, are like the chime 



22 THE fairy's search. 



Of his own native melodies 

To wanderer in a foreign clime ; 

They image to his soul the light 

Of lovely scenes afar, 

As truly as the tranquil lake 

Reflects the twilight star. 

Tho' voiceless, for his ear they have 

A language all their own, 

And, as the shell from ocean's cavo 

Still murmurs in melodious tone 

Of its far distant home. 

So, eloquently whisper they 

Of their bright birth-place far away. 

No marvel then the poet loves 

These " children of the sun and shower," 

No marvel then their presence moves 

His spirit with resistless power. 

The Fairy mark'd the holy flame 

That kindled in the poet's eye, 

And felt she scarce could wish to claim 

Her flowers from such a destiny. 

" Forever must my bower remain 

" Without a rose to blossom near, 



THE fairy's search. 23 



" E'er I can deck it o'er again 

" With treasures gather'd here. 

" No ! let the minstrel's ardent gaze 

" Beam on their beauties long, 

" Though lowly, they have power to raise 

" High thoughts for tuneful song ; 

" And though so perishable, still 

^' They may inspire a lay 

" Whose melody the world shall thrill 

(( l^iu Time's remotest day ! 

" Then let the priest of Nature keep 

" Her oiFspring fair — for it is meet 

" Their incense breath should round him float, 

" And mingle with the anthems sweet 

" That, from his soul's pure altar rise, 

" Like grateful offerings to the skies !" 

And musing thus the Fairy flew 

From the bard's dwelling, to renew 

Her fond pursuit. With wondering air 

She paus'd beside a mansion fair. 

As palaces in sunny lands, 

That stately home was bright, 

With the rich treasures wealth commands, 



24 THE fairy's search. 

And gems that taste and art delight 

To lavish on their shrine. 

It seem'd that pleasure's thrilling song 

Might ever sound in scene so fair, 

And hope and peace and joy belong 

To every dweller there : 

But ah ! no mortal home is free 

From care's intrusive form ; 

And never human heart can be 

Exempt from sorrow's storm. 

Within a large and lofty room, 

Where mocking splendor smil'd, 

A mother sat in grief and gloom, 

And sorrow'd o'er her child : — 

Not o'er child — but o'er the clay 

That, when the yester-morn had birth, 

Enshrin'd a " gem of purest ray," 

A pearl of priceless worth. 

A Mighty Power hath claimed the gem, 

With purpose good and wise, 

And set it in a diadem 

Whose light illumes the skies. 

The mother knows her pearl will shine 

Far brighter in its home above. 



THE fairy's search. 25 



Yet must her spirit long repine 
For that which woke its fondest love. 
The rifled casket still is dear, 
Although its light is fled, 
And mournin'g love must drop a tear 
Above the early dead. 
With eyes that rain like Summer showers, 
With trembling hand and anguish'd face. 
The mother now, with clustering flowers 
Bedecks her child's last dwelling-place. 
Ah, see how fair his pallid brow 
Looks in that rosy garland now ! 
And mark what life-like hue is caught 
By voiceless lip, and moveless cheek, 
As if again the spirit wrought 
Within its temple, and would speak 
Some sweet and pleasant thought ! 
'Tis strange how much of life and light 
And beauty those fresh flow'rets give ; 
They make the clay-cold features bright, 
And whisper that the lost doth live ! 
So fair the dear deception grows. 
That the pale mother's bosom glows 
With a faint feeling, almost joy. 



26 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



While gazing on her beauteous boy. 
More hopeful now her watch she keeps, 
More calmly views the lingering smile 
Which seems to say he only sleeps — 
Sleeps calm and dreams of Heaven the 
while I 

" Aye, strew them o'er the silent head, 

" And lay them on the quiet breast ; 

" Meet emblems of the early dead ; 

" Fit offerings for their place of rest. 

" Let none remove those fragrant things — 

" Affection's votive offerings — 

" From the pale clay ; there let them fade ; 

" And when within the grave they're laid, 

" Memory shall oft the lost restore, 

" And paint him as he look'd before, 

" With the sweet garland round his brow, 

" And his lip wreath'd in smiles. 

" Thus shall the mourning mother borrow 

" A pleasant thought to soothe her sorrow, 

** And deem her child was fitly dress'd 

" To seek the presence of the bless'd, 

" And join the angel band !" 



f 



THE fairy's search. 27 



The Fay 
Thus said, then sadly turn'd away, 
And with a drooping heart and wing, 
Resum'd again her wandering. 
And now she seeks a home of sin. 
Which veileth mournful scenes within. 
Like stream whose sunhght surface hides 
The gloom that in his depths abides. 
There, in that dwelling's fatal walls, 
Virtue a martyr'd victim falls ; 
There Hope, " the heaven-born charmer" dies. 
And Peace, with trembling pinion, flies 
Far from the gloomy scene. 

The Fairy pass'd the threshold's bound. 
And gaz'd with timid wonder round ; 
Soft came the shaded beams of day 
Through casements drap'd in fabrics gay ; 
This flood of rosy -tinted light 
Fell over many an object bright ; 
And, like the glow of sunset skies, 
Bestow'd on all its own rich dyes. 
There were the Sculptor's forms of grace, 
In whose fair shapes the eye might trace 



28 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



The cunning of a master hand — 
The power that genius' sons command ; 
And pictures, whose rich colouring wore 
The Hght, the Ufe that beameth o'er 
A living landscape — forms so fair, 
Features of loveliness so rare, 
And eyes that all so life-like beam'd, 
Shone from the canvas, that it seem'd 
The artist must have won his power 
From source divine, by some high spell, 
Or wander'd, in his dreaming hour, 
Where shapes of heaven-born beauty dwell. 

The tenant of this gorgeous room 
Is a fair female, in the bloom 
Of life's rich Summer days : 
Oh, sure if splendor's dazzling rays 
Have power the human heart to cheer, 
We'll find a fount of gladness here ! 
But mark ye now the lone one's face. 
No sign of peace or joy you trace 
Within that mirror ; — it reveals 
But the sad weariness she feels. 
The burning tint upon her cheek 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



29 



Doth not health's rosy presence speak ; 

'Tis but the hue that art bestows, 

The counterfeit of nature's rose ; 

And the quick flashing of her eye 

Is not hke joy's celestial beam, 

But lightning in a stormy sky. 

Whose lurid and terrific gleam 

Shows the dark clouds that linger near. 

And wakens thoughts of gloom and fear. 

All ye who seek to read the heart, 

And learn the secrets hidden there. 

Watch well the eye — deceptive part 

That never plays, but beameth pure. 

If all be pure within — man may school 

His lying lip to smile by rule. 

Or his deceitful brow to wear 

The semblance of a joy not there. 

But o'er this mirror of his soul 

He cannot hold such high control ; 

This spurns all power that would subdue, 

And speaks in accents ever true ! 

And now, if we can read aright 
The language in those eyes so bright, 



30 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



How sad are its revealings ! 

How much it tells of grief and gloom, 

Of buried hopes and blighted feelings, 

And joys that never more can bloom. 

See ! how intense and wild her gaze, 

As if some sight of dread amaze 

Woke horror in her soul ! 

How pales and glows her brow by turns ! 

How wilder still her eye-beam burns ! 

How heaves her breast with deep-drawn sighs, 

Like waves when angry winds arise ! 

How moves her pallid lip, as though 

It fain would breathe a wail of wo ! 

What moves her thus ? those roses fair. 

So wildly scatter'd round her there ? 

Aye, they can well reveal the cause 

Of her sad brow and earnest gaze. 

For they have power to bid her pause 

In sin and guilt's unholy ways. 

She reads within those stainless things 

A moral lesson, pure and true. 

Which, to her darken'd spirit, brings 

Thoughts of a better, brighter hue. 

Visions of peace and hope and youth 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



31 



Pass o'er the mirror of her mind, 
Recalling friendships lit by truth, 
And loves all sinless and refined. 
Those flowers call back the blissful time 
When she was pure and fair as they, 
With form untouch'd, unstain'd by crime, 
And spirit spotless as the day. 
Oh, bless the thoughts those roses give. 
And bless the spells that in them live ! 
Once more the erring wanderer strays 
'Mid the lov'd haunts of early days, 
Pure, happy, innocent again, 
And free from every darkening stain. 
Once more she wanders o'er the wild, 
A gay and guileless village child. 
Hunting, in every lone retreat, 
For Snow-drop fair or Violet sweet. 
Once more, oh, bliss above all other ! 
She kneels beside her sainted mother, 
And breathes the sweet and solemn prayers 
She learn'd in childhood's happy hours. 
She feels her parent's holy kiss. 
She hears her gentle blessing given, 
Oh ! can there be on earth a bliss 



1 



32 



THE FAIRY'S SEARCH. 



More pure, or more allied to Heaven? 
But all too dear the vision grows, 
Too great the burden of delight ; 
The dreamer wakes to present woes, 
Awakes to feel the withering blight 
Of shame and error's deepest stain 
Enfold her like the captive's chain. 
But tears, such tears as long have been 
By those dark flashing eyes unshed, 
Now falling fast and free, proclaim 
That virtue's seeds are not all dead. 
" Hope for the lost ! high hope for one 
" Who long hath been the child of sin ; 
" One strain of memory's music tone 
"May back to peace a wanderer win ! 
" There, let my precious flow'rets lie 
" Long, long before her tearful eye : 
" They wake repentance for the past, 
" And o'er the clouded future cast 
" One ray of hope serene. 
" Perchance these simple things may be 
" The heralds of a better day, 
"■ And by their holy ministry 
" Lure back the lost to virtue's way." 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



33 



These words the wandering Fairy said, 
As from the mournful scene she fled. 
But soon again her flight was stay'd 
Beneath a churchyard's sombre shade. 
Alas I it is a solemn sight, 
A graveyard in a city's bound, 
So silent, sad and desolate. 
While busy life is all around I 
It speaks so truly to the heart 
Of being's vain and empty show ; 
And seems to mock the fleeting part 
We play while here below. 
How hush'd and still the sleepers lie, 
While countless footsteps hurry by ! 
How calm and tranquil all appear, 
While tumult, toil and strife are near ! 
There sleep ambition's sons, nor heed 
The efforts of a rival train. 
Who hasten on to win the meed 
They sought in life to gain. 
There rests the dreaming poet now, 
Who once had hop'd to deck his brow 
With Fame's unfading bays ; 
Now other minstrels win the race. 



34 THE fairy's search. 

And make the lost one's burial-plaoe 
Echo with their proud lays. 
And there the slave of traffic lies ; 
In vain the golden chances rise ; 
In vain the speculator's prize 
Is offered in the mart ; — no more 
He has, as in life's scheming hour, 
The alchemist's once fabled power. 
His crafty spirit sleeps the while 
His brother toiler's of the day 
Sweep by to bask in Fortune's smile, 
And bear her spoils away ! 

The dead, the quiet dead, should rest 

Far from the busy haunts of life, 

Far from all care and toil unblest, 

Far from all noise and strife. 

In some sweet spot, where Natuia sheds 

A smile serene and fair, 

We e'er should make their lowly beds, 

And lay the sleepers there. 

The smiling Sun or pensive Moon, 

Should be the only lights that shine 

In such a scene ; the soothing tune 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



35 



Of wild-bird's song divine, 

Or murmuring water's gentle lay, 

The only music tones that play 

Around the solemn shrine. 

There moaning winds, thro' leafy bowers, 

Would softly sigh to answering flowers, 

And ceaseless requiems chant. 

And this were fitting sight to see. 

Sweet Nature mourning o'er her dead, 

Like a fond mother's tearful eye 

Watching her offspring's bed. 

Sadly the Fairy gaz'd around 
On marble tomb and grassy mound, 
And sigh'd to think of all the wo 
That many living hearts would know, 
For those who slept so calm below ! 
But peace again smil'd o'er her heart, 
When she beheld a grave apart, 
So hallow'd by Affection's light, 
'Twas cheerful to the gazer's sight 
The lowly bed was planted o'er 
With shrubs and flowers. 
So chosen that their own sweet lore, 



36 THE fairy's search. 



Their "mystic language" might disclose 

A touching tale — the pale white Rose 

Was there of sadness deep to tell, 

And Hyacinth, whose purple bell 

Is eloquent of sorrow ; 

And Violets of the azure hue. 

Which change not with the changing skies, 

And therefore are the emblems true 

Of faithfulness. Its fragrant sighs 

Sweet Rosemary breath'd around. 

And, with its leaves of fadeless green, 

Spake of remembrance ; — there was found 

The graceful locust, too, which gave 

A beauteous aspect to the scene, 

And told of love beyond the grave. 

These token flowers reveal'd that he 

Who slept below was unforgot ; 

That fond and faithful memory 

Would linger long around the spot. 

The sacred shrine which Love had sought 

For the dear idol of his thought. 

And, kneeling now on that low bed, 
The Fay beholds a woman fair. 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



37 



With cheek whose early bloom is fled, 

And brow that wears the seal of care ; 

With eye whose dim and shadowy light 

Reveals a history of tears, 

And tells that grief's untimely blight 

Has fallen on life's Summer years. 

She's weaving now a blooming wreath, 

A garland of the Fairy's roses. 

To grace and beautify the tomb 

Where her belov'd reposes. 

Mark, how the tide of wo is stay'd, 

And sorrow's gloomy shadows fade 

From her pale brow and mournful eyes, 

The while her pleasant task she plies ! 

The tear-drops pause upon her cheek, 

And linger there, and gleam awhile. 

As night's soft tears on mountain steep 

Gleam in the morning's smile. 

While bending o'er those bright-hued flowers, 

And drinking in their sweet perfume. 

There comes a dream of happier hours 

To cheer the mourner's gloom. 

Like phantoms rais'd by wizard spell, 

The vanish'd scenes of other davs 



38 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



Arise, in all their earlier charms, 

Before her spirit gaze. 

Her sobs are hush'd, her tears are dried. 

Her heart hath cast its weight aside, 

And, for a time, forgot its wo. 

For loss of him who sleeps below. 

" Dream on, dream on, poor widow'd heart ; 

"And may such visions peace impart. 

" Henceforth thou'lt tread life's daily round 

" Like a lone pilgrim, who, in fear 

" Wanders where gloomy sights abound, 

" And peril lurketh near. 

" Henceforth each hope that dawns for thee 

" Must have a cloud to dim its light, 

" And every bud of joy you see 

" Must wear the canker's hidden blight. 

" Henceforth all music tones you hear 

" Will ring with one discordant note, 

" And o'er all prospects, bright and dear, 

" One pall -like shadow still will float. 

" The purest pleasures left for thee, 

" Fond wife, are those of memory ; 

" And they, indeed, are truly thine, 

" While thou art decking that sad shrine 



THE fairy's search. 39 



" With my sweet flowers. Aye, strew them 

there, 
" For they are offerings, pure and fair, 
" And meet for such a scene. Emblems of thee, 
" Sad one, these gentle flowers will be ! 
" Lovely while perishing, and true 
" To their pure lives, they'll yield a breath 
" Of sweetness to the last — thus you 
" Will still love on till death." 

Thus spake, in pity's tenderest strain, 

The wanderer — then resum'd again 

Her weary search. And now, in fear 

And grief, she pauses near 

A gloomy prison. Within its cells 

Many a wretched inmate dwells, 

Shut out from peace and hope's sweet ray ; 

Shut out from honour's flowery way ; 

Shut out from every pleasant sight 

And sound that wakens deep delight 

In the free heart — from the blue sky, 

The balmy air, the sun's glad beams. 

The breathing flowers, the bounding streams. 

And all thy blessings. Liberty ! 



40 THE fairy's search. 



Oh, Crime ! it is a fearful thing, 

And fearful penalties must bring ; 

For deepest wo and darkest shame, 

And blighted hopes and ruin'd name. 

And Earth's contempt and Heaven's wrath 

Must follow all who tread its path ! 

Why will not wayward mortals learn 

The fatal wiles of sin to spurn, 

When, in all records of the past, 

They read the truth, that, first or last, 

The guilty meet a wretched doom? 

The good, the pure alone can know 

The joys that in life's pathway bloom, 

The heaven that even here below 

Can fill the heart, and waken there 

All its diviner powers. 

To such the earth is ever fair ; 

To such its fields and flowers 

Still wear the hues of beauty bright — 

The radiant charm, the glorious light 

That shone on Eden's bowers ; 

And such, however low their lot. 

However circumscrib'd the spot 

They call their home, may walk the earth, 



THE fairy's search. 41 



Proud in the consciousness of worth, 
And freely claim a kindred tie 
With the angelic host on high. 

A strange, a sad and solemn sight 
Now meets the Fairy's gaze. 
It seemeth as if sudden night 
Had veil'd the noon-tide's blaze. 
Low, dark and gloomy are the walls, 
From whence the noisome moisture falls : 
A heap of straw the only bed 
For the unhappy captive spread ; 
But e'en in this degraded state. 
He shows a lingering remnant yet 
Of feelings meet for happier fate. 
Crouch'd on the floor, just where a ray 
Of sickly sunshine makes its way 
Thro' grating small, his fingers clasp, 
With energy's convulsive grasp, 
A few frail flowers. How they had found 
Their way within the prison bounjd, 
'Twere vain to tell ; — with kind intent, 
Perchance some friend of better days 
Had these sweet missionaries sent, 



42 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



Repentance for the past to raise ; 
Perchance that love, (it oft hath given 
Such token of its deathless powers,) 
Had, with a pity born of Heaven, 
Thus sought to soothe the weary hours 
Of the lone wretch. Needless to know 
How those fair flowers he gain'd ; 
Be mine the pleasant task to show 
With what a holy power they reign'd 
O'er the sad heritor of shame. 
Long had he paced the prison-floor, 
And eyed the narrow boundary o'er, 
With glance like lightning's flame, 
While thoughts of evil, dark and dire, 
Awoke his soul to vengeful ire. 
And curses, deep and dreadful, fell 
Like muttering thunders round the cell, 
Until it seem'd the gloomy lair 
Of some dark demon of despair. 
But now a sudden change is wrought 
In the fierce current of his thought ; 
Those flowers have touch'd the only chord 
Yet tuneful in his rugged breast. 
And feeling's fount is strangely stirr'd. 



THE fairy's search. 43 



Like waters in the storm's unrest. 
That one pure spark which never dies, 
E'en in the coldest, hardest hearts ; 
Which gleams, like stars in clouded skies, 
Thro' all the gloom that sin imparts, 
Now wakes and brightens like the ray 
That heralds the approach of day. 
The memory of a Moth^^s love ! 
How like a voice from worlds above 
It thrills the soul ! How long it dwells 
Shrin'd in the heart's most holy cells, 
A sacred thing ! If darkening powers 
Have quench'd the light of earlier hours. 
And bade all other pure thoughts fly, 
That purest feeling will not die. 
But lives and smiles 'mid blight and gloom, 
Like wild flower o'er a ruin'd tomb. 
That feeling may be buried deep 
Beneath a load of sin and shame, 
And may for long, long seasons keep 
Hidden from all its holy flame ; 
But it will wake in some lone hour. 
And rule the soul with conquering power. 



44 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



Thus with the captive, — thick and fast 

As stars steal out when day is past, 

Now gentle thoughts and memories steal 

Upon his spirit, and reveal 

Glimpses of better things. How bright appears 

The vision of life's early years ! 

How purely to his spirit's gaze. 

Rises the well-beloYed form 

Of her who watch'd with love so warm 

His childhood's wayward days. 

Each token of her love for him, 

Her only son, her hope and pride. 

Her watching till the stars grew dim, 

In nightly vigils by his side. 

When pain oppress'd. Her tireless care 

To teach him lessons good and true ; 

Her oft repeated hope and prayer 

That he might virtue's path pursue ; 

AH' these fond memories cluster now 

Around the captive's heart — their power 

Is like the sun's reviving glow, 

In Spring's enchanted hour. 

" Oh, God ! and can it truly be, 

" A wretch, so lost, so vile as me. 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



45 



" Could e'er have been so deeply bless'd 

" With such a love ? Did that pure ray 

" In truth illume my childhood's day ? 

" Ah, would to Heaven, that death's cold hand 

" Had laid me in an early grave, 

" E'er I had slighted one command 

" That sainted mother gave !" 

These burning words the captive said, 

Then bent his form and bow'd his head 

And wept — aye, wept ! the man of crime, 

Freely as in life's holier time ! 

Thus he, whose spirit wo and pain 

And gloomy cell and galling chain 

Had fail'd to soften or subdue. 

Now melted to remorseful tears, 

To penitence sincere and true, 

Before those fairy flowers. And she 

Who mme to bear them to her bower 

Wefrtoo, with wondering joy, to see 

This last sweet token of their power. 

" Ah, never more I'll fondly dream, 

" Or wish to claim my treasures fair, 

" So dear to mortal homes they seem, 

" 'Tis meet they spend their sweet lives there. 



46 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



' Let lowly cot and lordly hall, 
' And wide domain and garden small, 
' Receive the gentle guests ; and they 
' Henceforth shall rule with loftier sway j 

* For I am homeless now, my bower 
' Is desolate, and I must dwell 

' By turns with every beauteous flower 
' That blooms around — a mystic spell, 
' A high and holy charm shall be 
' Their recompense who shelter me ; 

* Round each and all this gift shall live, 
' E'en after they have ceas'd to give 

' The wandering Fay a home. 
' But ever, in fond memory 

* Of my own chosen flowers, 

* Roses of every hue shall own 

* A spell of deeper powers ; 

* The charm I give to them shall cast %^ 

* Its magic over every heart, ^ 

* And hold sweet influence there, and last 
' Till life itself depart ; 

* And holy spirits, when they grieve 

* O'er those who stray from virtue's track, 

* Shall bless the spells that roses weave, 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



47 



" And choose them as their messengers 
" To call the wanderers back." 

No more the Fairy spake — no more 
She mourn'd her lost ; her search was o'er, 
But not her wanderings, for she stray'd 
Where many flowret's bloom'd, and made 
Her home awhile with all. And still 
She roams earth's garden-bowers at will. 
And nestles in Spring's opening rose, 
Or flutters round the Tulip's bell. 
Or creeps, at evening's dewy close. 
Within the Lily's fragrant cell. 
And slumbers there, and dreams away 
The Summer night in visions gay ; 
And, when the morning smiles again, 
She leaves the bright-hued garden flowers, 
And hies to lonely hill or plain. 
To spend a few delicious hours. 
Where the wild Honeysuckles fling 
Their balmy sweets on zephyr's wing. 
Whene'er a storm-cloud veils the sky, 
Or threat'ning winds sweep rudely by, 
She hastens to a safe retreat, 



48 THE fairy's search. 



The Violet's shelter'd home, and there 

Receives a welcome sweet, 

And rests till Heaven again is fair. 

And, mindful of her promis'd spell, 

She bids a mystic beauty dwell 

Round every home she gains. 

All ye who nurture flowers, and feel 

Their soothing influence o'er ye steal 

With a mysterious sway, be sure 

The wandering Fay hath sojourn'd there 

Amid your fragrant treasures, where 

Her charm e'en yet endures. 

And ye who roam o'er daisied ground, 

While Spring or Summer smiles around, 

And feel a bliss words may not tell. 

Know that the Fairy's magic spell 

Is deepest in such place and time, 

And wakes that sense of joy sublime. 

Know, too, that a mysterious tie, 

A lofty bond of sympathy. 

Unites your spirits to the Fay ; 

And this is why her charm can sway 

So potently your souls, for yet, 

No matter where her footsteps roam. 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



49 



She turns with memory's fond regret 
To her first beauteous home, 
And often pmes, but pines in vain, 
Another one so dear to gain. 
Thus mortals, whatsoe'er their lot, 
Turn ever to the sacred spot, 
The first dear home that gave them birth, 
And deem it brightest of the earth ; 
And sigh that life no more can wear 
The blissful hues that deck'd it there. 

And now my pleasant task were done, 
Save that there comes a thought of one 
V/ho truly said, " they write in vain 
Who weave no moral with their strain ;" 
And mine were little worth indeed. 
If wanting this. To those who read 
This simple tale, then, let me say, 
Cherish and love the lowly things 
That form the burden of my lay ; 
For their sweet lives, tho' brief as bright. 
Are ruled by that same power Divine, 
Who bids each glorious world of light 
In its appointed orbit shine ; 



50 



THE FAIRY S SEARCH. 



Aiid not more wondrous to the soul 
Are the bright worlds that o'er us roll 
Unchang'd by time, than the frail flower 
Whose life is compass'd by an hour ; 
Each speaks the same high language ; — each 
The same ennobling lessons teach ; 
Each leads our thoughts and hopes above, 
Each wakes our reverence and our love 
For the Supreme — the " Great First Cause," 
Who rules with such unerring laws. 



THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 



51 



THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 

They are exiled by Destiny's changeless decree, 

From heritage, birth-place and home, 
And doom'd, like the storm bird which flies 
o'er the sea, 

Still onward unresting to roam. 
They are leaving forever their own native clime; 

They are hastening on to decay ; 
A few more dark waves from the ocean of Time 

Will sweep the last remnant away. 

E'en now from the forests that rise in the West, 

From valley and mountain and stream ; 
From the prairie's broad surface, the lake's 
boundless breast. 

They are passing away like a dream. 
When a few more brief years shall have roll'd 
o'er the land. 

And cities lie thick on the plain, 
On our far western hills will the traveller stand, 

And ask for the red men in vain. 



52 THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 

In vain will he ask for the wild woods they 
loved, 
In their happy and prosperous hour ; 
For the homes and the haunts and the scenes 
where they roved 
In the days of their fr^sdom and power. 
No record shall linger to tell of the race ; 

No epitaph point to their tomb : 
The changes of Time will have swept from 
the place 
All sign of their life and their doom. 

The streams where their fleet barks once glided 
about, 
Will bear gallant vessels along ; 
And the hills which have echoed the warrior's 
shout, 
Will resound to the husbandman's song. 
On the plains where green forests their arms 
toss'd on high, 
Where the red hunter sought the wild deer. 
Fair cities will lift their proud domes to the 
sky. 
And Art's splendid temples appear. 



THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 53 

The flock of the herdsman will feed o'er the 
grave 

Where the dust of the chieftain is laid ; 
And the rich yellow harvests of Autumn will 
wave 

Where the tomb of a nation was made ! 
The ploughman will pause in the midst of his toil, 

And ask, with a wondering gaze, 
Ashe bends o'er the relics he turns with the soil, 

" Who dwelt here in earlier days?" 

No voice from the past will arise to reveal 

The secret he questions to know ; 
For Poesy's song will not wake to the theme, 

Nor History an answer bestow ; 
But echo alone will reply to the sound, 

O'er hill-top and valley and plain ; 
Her voice in low music will linger around, 

And repeat the sad question again. 

'Tis meet that we mourn for the Indian's doom ; 

When hfe's weary journey is o'er. 
He must sink to a lonely, unchronicled tomb. 

And be nam'd or remember'd no more ; 



54 THE mother's hymn 

With perishing things he must pass from the 
earth, 

And leave not a trace to disclose 
His name, or his deeds, or the place of his birth, 

Or the spot where he sank to repose. 



THE MOTHER'S HYMN TO THE 
DEPARTED. 

Sleep, dearest, sleep ! Love yearns to take 
thee 

From thy calm repose ; 
But 'twere cruel now to wake thee 

To life's bitter woes. 
Sleep in peace ! thy mother's sorrow 

Will not break thy rest. 
For, amid her grief, she'll borrow 

Joy, to know thee blest. 

Sleep, dearest, sleep ! Tho' Hope departed 

When I laid thee low, 
She who soothes the broken-hearted — 

Memory — did not go ; 



TO THE DEPARTED. 55 



And she cheers my mournful dreaming 

With thy smiHng eyes, 
Till, like rainbows, they are beaming 

In Thought's clouded skies. 

Sleep, dearest, sleep ! No power shall harm 
thee, 

Tho' I am not nigh ; 
Angel voices now shall charm thee 

With their lullaby. 
Angel mothers now caress thee. 

With a love like mine ; 
Angel care and kindness bless thee, 

In thy home divine. 

Sleep, dearest, sleep ! The tie that bound us 

Is not sever'd quite ; 
Still Love's mystic chain is round us ; 

Still our souls unite. 
By that tie I'll hope to greet thee, 

'Mid the pure and blessed ; 
By that tie I'll pray to meet thee, 

And partake thy rest. 



56 THE HAPPY BAND. 



THE HAPPY BAND. 

In life's sweet morn we v/ere a band 

Of children, glad and g-ay, 
Who sported ever, hand in hand, 

The rosy hours away. 
Like social birds that roam in flocks 

To seek their summer bowers, 
We wander'd closely side by side, 

Hunting the early flowers. 

We number'd eight — eight loving liearts 

So fondly knit together, 
That sunny peace and kindness made 

Unchanging summer weather. 
No clouds arose ; no coldness came ; 

No stormy words or tears — 
But each to each remained the same 

Through childhood's wayward years. 

Youth came — the music of our lives 
Still kept its joyous tone, 



THE HAPPY BAND. 



57 



For each harmonious note was breathed 

By hearts that beat as one. 
And changes came — but stiil the love 

That brighten'd childhood's day, 
Shone purely o'er our varied paths, 

And cheered our cloudless way. 

Years passed — but, whether light or shade 

Played o'er life's changeful sky. 
We still remained a happy band. 

Linked by a holy tie. 
If e'er we parted, 'twas to meet 

In deeper bliss again. 
For time. and absence only seemed 

To strengthen lawe's fond chain. 

But ah ! a mightier power than Time 

Or absence came at last. 
And o'er the brightness of our lives, 

A mournful shadow cast : 
One precious link of Love's sweet chain 

Was severed ! — never more 

Can wish or hope, or prayer or tear, 

That parted link restore. 

- __ 



58 



THE HAPPY BAND. 



The dearest member of our band 

Comes not to join us now — 
The cold earth lies upon his breast, 

The green sod veils his brow. 
The spring, that wakes the sleeping flowers 

And bids them freshly bloom, 
Has no life-giving ray to call 

Our slumberer from the tomb. 

We meet — but 'tis in silent grief, 

For thoughtfully we stand ; 
Each reading on the other's brow 

" We are a broken band." 
Our household group is like a harp 

Whose sweetest string is gone, 
No longer can its music make 

A full and perfect tone. 

We breathe no mournful, murmuring words , 

We shed no bitter tears ; 
But we feel that life hath lost the charm 

Of its departed years. 
Youth's confidence m earthly bhss, 

Its faith in hope's high powers, 



THE HAPPY BAND. 



59 



Its fearless trust in future good. 
Can never more be ours ; 

For one sad lesson now hath taught 

Our hearts this truth severe, 
Love hath no bond or lease to hold 

His valued treasures here ; 
Since Death has stolen one away, 

We hope and trust no more ; 
But ever fear, as misers do. 

Who dread to lose their store. 

Yet we repine not — for there comes 

A memory pure and bright, 
Which, like the rainbow after storms, 

We welcome with delight. 
Our sainted brother — ere his soul 

Passed to the better land — 
Bade us to hope that there, once more, 

We'd form a happy band. 



60 



REMOVAL OF NAPOLEON S REMAINS. 



REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF 
NAPOLEON. 

Take up the relics of the dead ; 

Bear them o'er ocean's foam, 
And give them in the soil of France 

A fitting, final home ! 
The land that loved the warrior brave, 
Should yield his dust an honored grave. 

Too long that sea-girt isle hath been 

His lonely place of rest : 
Earth's mightiest conqueror should repose 

Among earth's first and best ; 
The " thunderer of the world" should claim 
A Monument to tell his fame. 

The eagle's scream — the sea-bird's wail, 
The night winds mournful song. 

Mingled with ocean's solemn roar 
Have sung his requiem long — 

The star, the cloud, night's dewy tear, 

The only watchers o'er his bier ! 



REMOVAL OF NAPOLEOn's REMAINS. 61 

Far different sounds henceforth shall wake 
The death dirge of the brave, 

Far diiterent scenes their beauty lend, 
To decorate his grave ; 

And other watchers now shall keep 

Their vigils o'er his " dreamless sleep." 

The cannon's roar, the trumpet's voice, 

The spirit-stirring drum. 
Will peal the notes he loved in life, 

Around his last sad home ; 
And veteran bands will oft repair 
To tell his deeds of glory there. 

Art's sculptured monument shall rise 

To eulogize his name : 
A nation's voice shall rend the skies, 

Yv ith songs of loud acclaim ; 
And beauty's form will linger near. 
To wreathe bright garlands round his bier. 

'Tis well to render, even now, 

Such honors to the dead — 
The mighty dead ! who moved in life 

With triumph's loftiest tread. 



62 



SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW. 



Who o'er the earth his sceptre swayed, 
Till monarchs bowed and worlds obeyed ! 

Who soared on high like some proud bird 
That takes his heavenward flight — 

And sat enthroned in pride and power 
On glory's loftiest height — 

With nations bending at his feet, 

And empires crumbling round his seat ! 



SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW. 

I STOOD beside a rippling stream 

One changeful April day. 
And watch'd the sun's capricious beam 

Upon the waters play : 
Like some glad spirit of delight 

It sported here and there, 
Making each tiny wavelet bright 

As gems that monarchs wear. 

But never long the glittering guest 
Could any spot illume, 



SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW. 63 



For still some envious cloud would come 
To shroud that spot in gloom ; 

One moment Summer's gentle smile 
Boam'd o'er the streamlet's face ; 

The next, cold Winter's gloomy frown 
Seem'd lowering in its place. 

Yet, whether darkened by the shade, 

Or brightened by the ray, 
Those never-resting waters still 

Went gliding on their way ; 
They lingered not when sunlight came, 

They hurried not in shade, 
But with the same unvarying pace 

Their onward journey made. 

Methought, whilst gazing on those waves, 

That in them I could see 
A solemn type of human life — 

And their voices seem'd to me 
To whisper of that mightier stream. 

The rushing wave of Time, 
Which bears us still, in light or gloom, 

On toward the spirit clime. 



64 



SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW. 



Sunlight and Shadow mark the course 

Of hfe's departing day ; 
Our sorrows are the darkening cloud, 

Our joys, the brightening ray. 
Sunlight and Shadow in our home, 

The same within our heart ; 
Sunlight and Shadow o'er the world 

Their changeful hues impart. 

Alike upon the lowly cot, 

And on the mansion fair, 
The Sunlight and the Shadow fall 

With just and equal share : 
The poorest peasant need not fear 

To live in shade alway ; 
And the proudest monarch cannot hope 

To bid the sunshine stay. 

For every wave of life will have 

Its portion of the light. 
And that which glides in gloom to-day 

To-morrow will be bright ; 
And whether, like the river's wave, 

In sun or shade they roll, 



we've had our share of bliss. 65 



They still, with never-resting pace. 
Flow onward to their goal. 



WE'VE HAD OUR SHARE OF BLISS. 

We've had onr share of bliss, belov'd, 

We've had onr share of bliss ; 
And 'mid the varying scenes of life, 

Let us remember this. 
If sorrows come, from vanished joy 

We'll borrow such a light 
As the departed sun bestows 

Upon the queen of night ; 
And, thus, by Memory's moonbeams cheer' d, 

Hope's sun we shall not miss. 
But tread life's path as gay as when 

We had our share of bliss. 

'Tis true our sky hath had its clouds, 

Our spring its stormy hours, 
When we have mourned, as all must mourn, 

O'er blighted buds and flowers ; 



66 



WE VE HAD OUR SHARE OF BLISS. 



And true, our bark hath sometimes near'd 

Despair's most desert shore, 
When gloomy look'd the waves around, 

And dark the land before ! 
But Love was ever at the helm — 

He could not go amiss. 
So long as two fond spirits sang 

" We've had our share of bliss." 

These holy watchwords of the Past 

Shall be the Future's stay. 
For by their magic aid we'll keep 

A host of ills at bay. 
Our happy hearts, like tireless bees. 

Have revell'd 'mid the flowers, 
And hiv'd a store of summer sweets 

To cheer life's wintry hours. 
While Memory lives, and Love remains, 

We'll ask no more than this ; 
But ever sing, in grateful strains, 

" We've had our share of bliss." 



A PORTRAIT. 67 



A PORTRAIT. 



Her brow had the transparent hue 

Of marble 'neath the moonbeam's glow, 
And the blue veins peep'd softly through, 

Like violets from the snow. 
Now o'er that brow a beam would stray, 

And now a cloud arise. 
As light and shade alternate play 

O'er changeful April skies. 

Her eyes were dreamlike, soft and bright ; 

Their color none might tell, 
For now they danced m rapture's light, 

And now 'neath sorrow's spell 
They droop'd ; but whether mirth 

Or sadness slumbered there, 
No other eyes in the wide earth 

Could boast of charms so rare. 

Her voice, like a melodious lute, 

Echoed in music 'round. 
And tuned to measure grave or glad, 

Still woke harmonious sound ; 



A PORTRAIT. 



We thought while rose its song of glee 
We could not love it more, 

Yet when it thrilled to sorrow's key, 
'Twas dearer than before. 

Her smile ! how shall I seek to paint 

A thing so wond'rous bright ? 
As well might painter's hand attempt 

To sketch the rainbow's light. 
A sudden splendor, like the rays 

From morning's rising sun ; 
A beam that deck'd in dazzling hues 

The face o'er which it shone. 

But, ah ! that smile would pass away 

As quickly as it came. 
For tears in embryo ever lay 

To dim the eye's sweet flame. 
As lightest clouds veil Heaven's beam, 

So would a trivial thing, 
A word, a look, a thought, a dream. 

The sudden shadow bring. 

She ne'er could see the face of wo. 
Or list the voice of pain. 



A PORTRAIT. 



69 



But sympathetic tears would flow, 

Free as the summer rain ; 
And careless words from lips she loved, 

Or frowns on foreheads dear. 
Would move her soul as seas are moved 

By the wild wind's career. 

And thus her heart was like her face, 

As changeful and as fair — 
Now pleasure's sunny dwelling-place, 

Now sorrow's gloomy lair ; 
But ever good, and pure, and true, 

It was in storm or shine. 
Till of her wayward moods, we knew 

Not which was most divine ; 

For, in them all, her soul was like 

A pure and placid stream. 
That mirrors in its faithful wave 

Alike the cloud and beam ; 
And whether radiance smihng fair, 

Or shadowy gloom was given, 
Each varying hue reflected there 

Was still the hue of Heaven. 



J 



70 



GENIUS. 

There is a lonely, little, Alpine flower. 
Which blooms on rugged rocks, or moun- 
tain high ; 

It never feels the summer sun or shower ; 
It never sees the smiling summer sky. 

The icy breath of winter round it blows. 
And frowning tempests gather o'er its head ; 

Yet, still, as fair and beautiful it grows, 
As cultured tenant of a garden bed. 

Like that lone flow'ret. Genius oft is found 
In some bleak spot, where all is cold and 
drear ; 

Where no congenial influence smiles around. 
And no warm ray of Hope is lent to cheer ; 

Where the keen breath of Slander sheds its 
blight. 
And where Misfortune's tempests rudely 
come ; 



AMERICAN LIBERTY. 71 



Where Envy, Pain and Penury unite 

To crush the bud — ^thore Genius finds a 
home. 

And there it lives, despite the clouds and storms, 
Which, darkening round it, threaten to de- 
stroy. 
And blooms more brightly than the favored 
plants 
Rear'd on the sunny plains of Peace and Joy. 



AMERICAN LIBERTY. 

Born in a night of danger — when the cloud 

Of dark Oppression gathered o'er the land ; 
When War's fierce thunders echoed far and 
loud. 
And Death's red fires leaped forth on every 
hand. 

Cradled in wild alarm — when Freedom's foe 
Still sought to cast its fetters o'er the brave ; 



72 AMERICAN LIBERTY. 

When Glory's deeds but gained the meed of wo, 
And Valor's self seemed powerless to save. 

Nurtur'd in sorrow — when the bitter tear 
Of wrong and suiFering dimm'd a Nation's 
eye; 

When still the frown of Tyranny was near ; 
And still men struggled on to "do or die." 

But reared in Hope, in Happiness and Light, 
And cherished with a Nation's fondest care. 

The precious germ, no adverse storms could 
blight. 
Now glows in loveliness, surpassing fair. 

Glory illumes it, like the beam of day ; 

Prosperity and Peace around it shine ; 
Man's dearest blessings blossom in its ray, 

And life is hallowed by its power divine. 

Millions revere the hour that gave it birth ; 

The world's applauding voice is freely given ; 
Fame calls it " fairest ornament of Earth," 

And Wisdom names it " favorite child of 
Heaven." 



THE SPIRIT OF SPRING. 



73 



THE SPIRIT OF SPRING. 

There is a viewless spirit in the air, 

Whose presence thrills us like a magic spell, 

Whose breath is pure as flow'rets fresh and fair, 
Whose voice is sweet as music's gentlest 
swell. 

High power o'er Nature hath this unseen sprite. 
As free she roams o'er mountain, vale and 
stream ; 
She decks them all in charms that wake de- 
light, 
And bids the earth in primal beauty beam. 

Like a victorious chieftain, marching on, 
'Mid songs and plaudits of his soldier-band. 

And winning words of praise from every tongue. 
So moves fair Spring in triumph through the 
land. 

Her followers are a train of buds and flowers. 
That wake to life where'er her footsteps fall ; 

10 



74 THE SPIRIT OF SPRING. 



Her minstrels are the birds from southern 
bowers, 
Who tune their notes obedient to her call. 

Her plumes are verdant boughs of waving trees, 
That nod and sport in every zephyr's sigh ; 

Her banner is the sunlight floating free — 
Her canopy the blue and boundless sky. 

Where'er she moves, a magic change is seen — 
Dark clouds and mists give place to smiling 
skies ; 
And barren hills put on a robe of green, 
And deck their brows with flowers of rain- 
bow dyes. 

But not o'er Nature's works alone the Spring 
Exerts the might of her mysterious powers ; 

For Nature's children she doth kindly bring 
A charm that soothes and cheers life's weary 
hours. 

Man feels the genial influence, and his heart 
Leaps to the rapid measure of delight ; 



THE SPIRIT OF SPRING. 



75 



Each languid pulse to "healthful music" starts, 
And gayly bounds like waves in sunbeams 
bright. 

The youth leads forth the maiden of his choice, 
And as beneath the smiling heaven they rove 

Their fond emotions find a fitting voice 
To bless the Power that wakes their souls 
to love. 

And frolic childhood, with a shout of glee. 
Hails the balm-breathing spirit of the air, 

And bounds away through wild woods fast and 
free. 
To hunt the birds or gather violets fair. 

E'en the poor wretch whose soul is stain'd with 
crime. 
Whose steps have wander'd long and far 
astray. 
Feels the ennobling influence of the time. 
And breathes a wish to turn to virtue's way. 

As genial sunbeams pierce earth's frozen breast. 
And warm the seed, and wake it into flower ; 



76 



THE STORMY PETREL. 



So does the glance of Spring, on mission blest, 
Steal to the spirit with a holy power. 



THE STORMY PETREL. 

'• Flocks of these birds are seen at almost all sea- 
sons of the year, roaming fearless and tireless over 
the wide waste of the Atlantic Ocean. Many mari- 
ners believe them to be the heralds of an approaching 
storm, (hence their name,) and the more superstitious 
class of seamen deem them spirits of the departed, un- 
dergoing a sort of penance for their sins." 

Whence come ye, mystic pilgrims of the deep? 

What are ye seeking on the billowy wave ? 
Why thus so long your weary wanderings keep. 

And thus so oft these ocean perils brave ? 

Are there not waving trees, and blooming 
flowers, 
And pleasant valleys on the far-off shore ? 
Where ye might fold your wings 'neath shel- 
tering bowers, 
And rest secure while storms could harm no 
more ? 



THE STORMY PETREL. 



77 



The countless warblers of the lowly vale — 
The wild-wmged songsters of the mountam 
rock, 
Fly to their homes when warring winds assail, 
Nor seek to dare the tempest's fearful 
shock ; 

But ye, lone dwellers by the sounding sea. 
Heed not the cloud, nor fly the whirlwind's 
might ; 
Ye skim the deep as fearless and as free 
When the storm howls, as when the wave 
is bright. 

Why are ye thus ? Conjecture roams abroad 
To learn the secret of your mystic way, 

And Wonder questions of your strange abode. 
And busy Fancy asks why thus ye stray. 

Are ye uideed the heralds of the gale, 
Thus kindly sent to hover o'er the deck. 

Warning the mariner to furl his sail. 

And timely " guard his goodly ship from 
wreck ?" 



78 THE STORMY PETREL. 



Or are ye troubled souls of erring men. 

Whose lives on earth were mark'd by many 
a crime ; 
Doom'd in sad penance, onward still to roam 

With flight-unresting as the march of time ? 

Perchance ye're spirits of the far-off* dead, 
Whose forms were laid in green and quiet 



Seeking the loved and lost, whose latest bed 
Was made beneath the darkly heaving 
waves. 

Fancy loves well to deem that such ye are ; 
For who that hath a friend 'neath ocean's 
breast, 
Would not, in spirit pray to hover there, 
And watch above the lost one's place of 
rest? 

'Tis not an idle thought— if mortal love 
Outlives the fleeting term of mortal life, 

Would it not linger, ere it soared above, 
And seek its object e'en 'mid tempest's 
strife? 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 79 



Whate'er ye are, wild wanderers of the deep, 
There is a lesson in your bold career. 

Teaching the soul its changeless course to keep 
'Mid all the storms that darken round it here. 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

When twilight darkens o'er the face of day, 
And evening draws her shadowy curtain 
round. 

How like the infant wearied with its play. 
Nature lies slumbering in repose profound ; 

And the bright stars their tireless vigils keep. 

Like a fond mother watching childhood's sleep. 

As the sweet calm that comes when winds de- 
part, 
To smooth the angry waves on ocean's 
breast, 
Night's holy silence steals around the heart, 

And lulls its stormy passions all to rest ; 
Wild joys and feverish hopes no more control, 
Memory, alone, holds empire o'er the soul. 



80 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 



Then rise the shadowy ghosts of vanished 
hours, 
And whisper to us hke the sweet south air, 
That comes in spring-time, breathing of the 
flowers 
It left in blooming loveliness afar ! 
They tell soft tales of friendship pure and true, 
And love, that wore no stain of earthly hue. 

Then shades of long departed joys arise, 
And phantom forms of buried hopes appear. 

Breathing, once more, the tuneful melodies 
That fell so sweetly on youth's raptured ear ; 

Slowly they come — a dim and shadowy train, 

Bringing the heart, its dreams of bliss again. 

Ay, night is lovely ! When the sun departs. 
And earth is robed in mourning for his 
beams ; 
He sinks not in the wave, but other hearts 

Glow in the radiance of his golden beams — 
Thus, when Hope's day -beams fade and dis- 
appear. 
They leave a lingering ray to brighten mem'- 
ry's sphere 



81 



SUMMER. 

Thoo art a fairy sovereign of the heart 
Bright eyed and beauteous Summer ! Poets sing 
The glories of the Spring-time, and awake 
Their tuneful harps in praise of Autumn too ; 
Even the sterner beauties Winter owns 
Claims from the bard a tribute of applause ; 
But never wakes he such melodious strains 
As when he sings of thee, and of thy charms, 
Queen of the rolling year ! 

A prouder name 
Might well be thine — " enchantress of the 

earth"— 
For thou hast power which, like magician's 

spell, 
Transforms unsightly scenes or cheerless views, 
To visions of delight. No lonesome glen 
But brightens into beauty 'neath thy smile ; 
No landscape, wild or rude, but wins from thee 
Some sweet and graceful charm. The homes 

of man, 



11 



82 



If reared amid the haunts of Nature, wear 
An Eden aspect in thy balmy days : 
The stately palace, 'mid its " grand old trees," 
Looks lovely and serene ; the peasant's cot 
Half hid amid a wilderness of flowers, 
Apes its more lordly neighbor, and appears 
A lovely palace too. 

Even amid 
The crowded dwellings of the busy town 
Sweet Summer works her wond'rous changes. 

There 
The rich man's home is fragrant with the breath 
Of many flowers; his casements draped by 

vines. 
Whose clustering blossoms shut out every sight 
Unwelcome to the eye, and waken thoughts 
Of fresh green fields, and pleasant sylvan 



The laborer's lowly home is also deck'd 
With floral treasures. In the narrow yard, 
And on each humble window sill, appear 
A few well loved and fondly nurtur'd flowers ; 
Through the long day these wear a sickly hue. 
And droop beneath the hot and dusty air. 



83 



But when the gentle dews of evening fall 
They lift their languid heads, and breathe a sigh 
Whose sweetness cheers the weary son of toil, 
And bears his dreaming soul to peaceful scenes. 

I bless thee, gentle Summer. Every heart 
Will echo back to mine the grateful strain 
And bless the power that bringeth good to all. 
The joyful hail thee with a deeper joy. 
And plan some new delight for all thy days. 
The sorrow-stricken bare their throbbing brows 
To thy sweet breath, until it steals away 
The bitterness of grief. The child of want 
Is gay when thou art here, for then he needs 
No costly fuel and no warmer garb 
Than his own scant attire — rich too he is, 
So long as bounteous Nature scatters round 
Her blushing fruits, in such a full supply, 
That e'en the beggar may obtain a share. 

While earth can boast, through every passing 

year, 
A guest like thee, dear Summer, man may feel 
That Eden's joys, and Eden's holy charms. 
Have not all vanish'd from his lowly home. 



84 THE rover's serenade. 



THE ROVER'S SERENADE. 

Wake, wake, fairest maiden, and hasten with 

me, 
O'er the sparkling wave of the star-lightodsea. 
The zephyrs will waft our fleet bark, ere the 

day, 
To a spot far more lovely, and scenes far more 

gay. 

I have made thee a home on a beautiful isle, 

Where the sunbeams first fall, and the moon- 
beams last smile ; 

Where fragrance is borne on the wind's airy 
wing. 

And bids their sweet melodies tunefully sing. 

I have planted around it the vines ye love best ; 
With thy favorite flowers its garden I've 

dress'd : 
I have deck'd it with spoils from the land and 

the sea. 
And made it a home that is worthy of thee. 



i 







1 




THE rover's serenade. 85 






I have stolen the gems from the mermaid's 




cave, 


i 




And the beautiful coral she hides in the wave : 


! 




I have been 'neath the darkest and stormiest 




tide, 


1 




To gather the fairest of pearls for my bride. 


1 




Then come, dearest maiden, haste, haste o'er 


jl 




the deep, 


i 




While the waves are all hush'd, and the winds 


i 




are asleep ; 


1 




While the storm-spirit rests in his cloud-cov- 


i 




ered car, 


?j 




And the voice of the tempest is from us afar. 


I 




Haste 1 haste ! for my comrades, true-hearted 






and brave, 


1 




Give the signal that calls me again o'er the 


1 




wave : 


! 




My fleet bark is ready : ere morning shall smile, 




We will anchor it safe, near thy flower-clad 






isle. 


1 
1 




—m^ 











86 THE DEPARTED SPIRIT OF YOUTH. 



THE DEPARTED SPIRIT OF YOUTH. 

I WEAR no sables on my form, no cypress on 
my brow ; 

And yet the mourner's gloomy garb would 
well befit me now ; 

For darkly o'er my musing heart the pall of 
grief is spread, 

And like a weeper at a tomb, I mourn a spir- 
it fled: 

A spirit radiant and pure, a spirit of delight. 

That made, for me, earth's rudest scene a 
realm of beauty bright. 

That vanish'd spirit never wore a form of mor- 
tal mould. 

My soul but felt the lovely power my eyes 
could ne*er behold. 

But what fond spells, what magic charms that 

spirit cast around, 
Making all life one dream of bliss, all earth 

enchanted ground. 



THE DEPARTED SPIRIT OF YOUTH. 87 



That glorious spirit was my youth, which now, 

alas, is o'er ! 
And the glad power that always bless'd, can 

bless me never more 

I strove while in life's busy scenes amid the 

grave and gay, 
To think the freshness of the soul had not all 

pass'd away ; 
I vainly deem'd these holy scenes with their 

ennobling power. 
Would wake the rapturous glow of thought 

they woke in youth's sweet hour. 

I knew my eye had lost its light, my cheek its 

roseate hue. 
But would not, could not deem the flowers of 

mind had faded too. 
I knew the temple of the soul was worn by 

time and care, 
But hoped the glorious light within was still 

undimm'd and fair. 



THE DEPARTED SPIRIT OF YOUTH. 



It is not SO ! Life's many storms have touched 

the " spark divme," 
And now 'tis hke a lone, sad ray within a 

ruin'd shrine. 
Revealing still some holy things, some relics 

pure and bright, 
But showing more the saddening power of ruin 

and of blight 

There is a change, a mournful change on every 
thing I see, 

And even these fair prospects wear a sable 
hue to rae. 

I miss the glory of the morn, the beauty of the eve 

That once awoke such thrilling joy, and can- 
not choose but grieve. 

Yet even now, while o'er the tomb of buried 

youth I bend, 
Harmonious tones of melody with sorrow's 

murmurs blend ; 
I seem to hear an angel voice telling of climes 

more fair, 
And whispering low these welcome words, 

" Youth is eternal there." 



89 



THE PAST. 

Why are departed days so strangely bright ? 
Why are they clad in hues so passing fair ? 
The Present smiles — the Future beams in hght, 
Yet not the glories of the Past they wear. 
The melody of birds, the breath of flowers, 
The life, and light, and loveliness of spring, 
Can never more, as in life's earlier hours, 
The full, unmeasured tide of rapture bring. 
O'er vanish'd years the rays of memory cast 
A light, like moonbeams on a tranquil stream, 
Softening the harsher features of the Past, 
Bidding its lovelier ones more brightly gleam. 
Till sight or sound that tells of moments gone, 
Stirs the heart's depths as doth a trumpet-tone I 




12 



90 



COLERIDGE. 



COLERIDGE. 

Minstrel, thy lay had ever magic power, 
Like the sweet notes of some wild wizard strain. 
My soul with wandering rapture to enchain : 
I've bent above thy page at morning hour, 
At summer noon-tide in the shaded bower ; 
I've conn'd it oft by twilight's lingering beam. 
By the lone midnight taper's paler gleam. 
And still it charm'd with every changing hour. 
And oft the beings of thy mighty mind 
Around me, as in life, do seem to dwell, 
And in their sweet companionship I find 
A potent charm — a high and holy spell 
That, from the cold, the real and unlovely here, 
Bears me to visioned scenes of beauty, deeply 
dear. 




91 



BOOKS. 

They are the heritage that glorious minds 
Bequeath unto the world ! — a glittering store 
Of gems, more precious far, than those he finds 
Who searches miser's hidden treasures o'er. 
They are the light, the guiding star of youth, 
Leading his spirit to the realms of Thought, 
Pointing the way to Virtue, Knowledge, Truth, 
And teaching lessons, with deep wisdom 

fraught. 
They cast strange beauty round our earthly 

dreams. 
And mystic brightness o'er our daily lot ; 
They lead the soul afar to fairy scenes 
Where the world's ruder visions enter not : 
They're deathless and immortal — ages pass 

away, 
Yet still they speak, instruct, uispire, amidst 

decay ! 



92 



SOLITUDE. 

Call ye it solitude to dwell apart 
From the world's busy crowd ? It is not so ; 
The fairy realm, the kingdom of the heart, 
Is thronged with lovelier shapes than those 

that glow 
With youth and beauty in the festive hall. 
Whene'er from Pleasure's gilded courts I roam 
To some secluded spot — at Fancy's call, 
A host of fairy beings round me come. 
Bringing sweet memories of youth's golden 

prime, 
Of Hope's first promise, and Love's earliest 

dream, 
And all the flowers of life's fair summer time, 
Till my lone thoughts with brighter beauty 

beam. 
And my rapt spirit holds — ^though none are 

near — 
A mystic converse and communion dear. 



AN INDIAN MOTHER S LOVE. 



93 



AN INDIAN MOTHER'S LOVE. 

Os-HE-OAu-MAi, the wife of Little Wolf, one of the 
Iowa Indians, died while in Paris, of an affection of the 
lungs, brought on by grief for the death of her young 
child in London. Her husband was unremitting in 
his endeavors to console her, and restore her to the 
love of life, but she constantly replied — " No ! no ! 
my four children recall me. I see them by the side 
of the Great Spirit. They stretch out their arms to 
me, and are astonished that 1 do not join them." 

No ! no ! I must depart 
From all earth's pleasant scenes, for they but 

wake 
Those thrilling memories of the lost which 
shake 
The life sands from my heart. 

Why do ye bid me stay ? 
Should the rose linger when the young buds 

die, 
Or the tree flourish when the branches lie, 

Stricken by sad decay ? 



94 



AN INDIAN MOTHER S LOVE. 



Doth not the parent dove. 
When her young nurslings leave their lowly 

home, 
And soar on joyous wings to heaven's blue dome, 

Fly the deserted grove ? 

Why then should I remain ? 
Have I not seen my sweet-voiced warblers soar 
So far away, that Love's fond wiles no more 

May lure them back again ? 

They cannot come to me ; 
But I may go to them — and as the flower 
Awaits the dewy eve, I wait the hour 

That sets my spirit free. 

Hark ! heard ye not a sound 
Sweeter than wild-bird's note or minstrel's lay ? 
I know that music well, for night and day 

I hear it echoing round. 

It is the tuneful chime 
Of spirit voices ! — 'tis my infant band 
Calling the mourner from this darkened land 

To joy's unclouded clime. 



-^.■■■^A,^ 



ODE FOR THE 4tH OF JULY. 



95 



My beautiful, my blest ! 
I see them there, by the Great Spirit's throne ; 
With winning words and fond beseeching tone 

They woo me to my rest. 

They chide my long delay, 
And wonder that I linger from their home ; 
They stretch their loving arms to bid me come ; 

Now would ye have me stay ? 



ODE FOR THE 4TH OF JULY. 

An anthem of glory, a soul-stirring strain, 
Afar over mountain and valley is pealing : 
Now it swells on the breeze, now it floats o'er 

the main — 
A nation's proud story of triumph revealing. 
'Tis the freeman's glad lay, 
And it welcomes the day 
When his country first cast her dark fetters 

away ; 
Oh ! long may its music an amulet be 
To gladden the homes and the hearts of the free. 



96 



ODE FOR THE 4tH OF JULY. 



In the tempest of warfare our fathers arose, 
And fearless they stood when the thunders 

burst o'er them, 
They braved the dark storm, but they sunk to 

repose. 
With the sunbeams of hberty smiling before 

them. 

Thus our Country was won, 
And her glory begun, 
For valor inspired every true-hearted son. 
Their life blood was poured on the germ of the 

tree. 
Whose beauty now brightens the home of the 

free. 

Those heroes still live on the tablet of fame, 
Their deeds are enshrined in the temple of glory ; 
A nation shall hallow each patriot name. 
And the children of freemen repeat the glad 
story. 

As years roll away. 
Still this festival day 
Shall claim the proud theme for a soul-stirring 
lay. 



THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 



97 



And that record of triumph forever shall be 
Embalm'd in the hearts of the brave and the 
free. 



THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 

I've seen a bird careering to the skies, 
With joyous pinion and exulting song ; 

I've seen a cloud, when tipp'd by sunset dyes. 
In most resplendent beauty float along ; 

I've seen the mom look forth as pure and fair 
As if 'twere heaven's own smile illum'd the 
earth ; 

I've seen a flower unfolding in the air. 
Lovely as 'twere an angel sprung to birth. 

And these fair sights awaken'd in my heart 
So deep a sense of joy, that day by day, 

I deem'd no earthly thing could e'er impart 
A purer bliss, a holier joy than they. 

13 



98 



THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 



But I have learn'd new lessons of delight, 
My blue-eyed babe, from theo ; and now I 
know 

That nought in earth or air, however bright. 
Can half such rapture as thyself bestow. 

Thy voice, to me, is sweeter than the notes 
Of tuneful birds — thy form more graceful far, 

Than the last lingering sunset cloud that floats 
In gentle beauty near the evening star. 

Thy smile is brighter than the glance of day, 
When day breaks fairest in the eastern skies ; 

Thy features lovelier, m their changeful play, 
Than summer flowers with all their bril- 
liant dyes. 

I've heard of angel visitors ; and knew 

That such things were — ^for oft, in dream- 
ing hours 
IVe commun'd with bright beings, brought to 
view 
By heaven-born Thought's sublime and sub- 
tle powers. 



THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD. 



99 



And from these airy beings I have learn'd 
Full many a lofty lesson ; — they have led 

My soul to noble things, until it burn'd 
To win the light from Virtue's halo shed. 

But angel visitors, that only came 

In dreaming moods — too " few and far be- 
tween" 
Their visits were, to shed a constant flame 

Of cheerfulness upon life's varied scene. 

But now, my blue-eyed child ! I find in the© 
An angel visitant, as pure and bright 

And beautiful, as my rapt soul could see 
In its most wildering visions of delight. 

And thou art always here — I do not miss 
Thy smile when other dream-like joys de 
cay; 
Thy constant presence makes my constant 
bliss, 
And sheds a charm around life's daily way. 

And thou dost learn me lofty lessons too. 
As pure as those that guardian angels give ; 



.... 'I'ga^'jtLitJiiLL-i^''^''*'''^"^'*' ■ - 



100 



LOST TREASURES. 



And prompt my erring nature to subdue 
All that might teach thee in the wrong to 
live. 

Thy innocence is like a magic spell 

To shield my soul from sin — thy untaught 
mind 
Instructs my own 'mid holy thoughts to dwell, 
That I, for thee, the " pearl of truth" may 
find. 



LOST TREASURES. 

What is that wealth, of priceless worth, 

Most idly cast away ; 
Most deeply veiled from the sons of earth, 

And lost to the light of day ? 

Is it the pearl that slumbers deep 

Beneath the stormy wave ? 
Or the coral wreaths which deck the steep 

That frowns o'er Ocean's cave ? 



LOST TREASURES. 101 



Is it the precious gem that gleams 
Far down in the mountain's womb ? 

Or the yellow ore, whose golden beams 
Are hid m the mine's dark tomb ? 

Is it the wasted fruits and flowers 

Of lone, unpeopled isles ? 
Or the teeming lands of unknown bowers, 

Where mortal never smiles ? 

Ah ! no, such treasures are not lost, 

But for a time conceal'd ; 
And, in its own good season, each 

And all may be reveal'd. 

The diver, from its ocean home. 
The precious pearl may gain ; 

The miner, from its murky tomb, 
The glittering ore obtain. 

Some wandering voyager may taste 

The fruits of lonely isles ; 
And future woodmen till the waste 

Until it blooms and smiles. 



102 LOST TREASURES. 



There are lost treasures, richer far 

Than all this varied store, 
Which, like the light of fallen stars. 

Can gladden earth no more. 

These are the treasures of the mmd — 

The majesty and power 
Within the human heart enshrin'd. 

Like perfume in the flower. 

If these be idly cast away 

On worthless things, or vain ; 
No efforts of an after day 

Can win them back again. 

Some lofty dreams ; some thoughts sublime ; 

Some attributes that give 
Assurance of its source divine. 

In every spirit live. 

And these to noble aims applied. 

To noble ends would lead ; 
And win the soul a place of pride, 

And make it great indeed. 



103 



But, ah ! how oft these glorious powers 

Are vainly, madly used ! 
Allowed to slumber through life's hours, 

Or wasted, or abused. 

These are the buried pearls and gems 

No toil can e'er restore ; 
These are " lost treasures," losfj to man 

And earth forevermore. 



SONG. 

The dream of existence is blissful and bright 

In the radiant morning of youth. 
When Hope has no cloud to o'ershadow her 
light, 
And Friendship is hallowed by truth ; 
When Love is all pure as a calm summer 
stream, 
That slumbering 'mid flowers, doth lie 
Reflecting the brightness of Heaven's own 
beam. 
And wearing the tinge of the sky. 



104 SONG. 

How changed is the vision when Time hur- 
ries on, 
And brings the decline of Life's day ; 
Then the sunbeam's from Hope's fairy land- 
scape are gone ; 
Then Friendship has faded away. 
And then like p stream which the wind-spirit 
wakes 
Is the once holy fountain of Love ; 
Then its troubled and wandering wave only 
takes 
The hue of the storm-cloud above. 

'Tis well ; since we're speeding away to the 
tomb, 

That youth's fairy pleasures should flee. 
For should they retain all their earlier bloom, 

Too dear to the heart they would be ; 
And 'tis well, since the soul's lasting home is 
not here. 

That the love of its spring-time should die ; 
For could it still cherish an Eden so dear, 

'Twould forget for its heaven to sigh. 



THE BEACON. 105 



THE BEACON. 

The island of Rona is a small and very rocky spot 
of land, lying between the isle of Skye and the main- 
land of Applecross, and is well known to mariners 
for the rugged and dangerous nature of the coast. At 
the extremity of this dreary solitude is the residence 
of a poor widow, whose lonely cottage is called the 
•' light house," from the fact that she uniformly keeps 
a lamp burning in her window at night. During the 
silent and solitary watches of the night, she may be 
seen trimming her little lamp, being fearful that some 
misguided and frail bark may perish through her ne- 
glect ; and for this she receives no manner of remu- 
neration — it is pure, unmingled philanthropy. 

" So shines a good deed in a naughty world." 

There's a lonely isle, on whose rocky shore 
The wild waves break, for evermore. 
With a sullen sound, like the thunder's roar. 

There restless winds strange revels keep, 
Wandering and wailing o'er the deep, 
Like troubled souls that cannot sleep. 



X4 



106 



THE BEACON. 



With watchful care, by night or day, 
In winter stern or summer gay, 
The mariner shuns that coast alway. 

For tho' the skies are bright and fair, 
Tho' calm and safety smile elsewhere. 
Yet danger ever threatens there. 

On tho wildest part of that wild spot — 
Where other human home is not — 
Dwells a woman lone, in a humble cot. 

She has no friend or kindred near ; 
No pleasant sight or sound to cheer — 
Why lingers she in home so drear ? 

The twilight shades are gathering round ; 
More dismal grows the night wind's sound, 
More fierce the wild wave beats the ground. 

Yet that lone dweller by the shore 
Fears not the darkness gathering o'er, 
Nor the vex'd billow's angry roar. 

Her heart is blameless, good and pure ; 
Her soul, in its own light secure, 
Can well the outward gloom endure. 



THE BEACON. 



107 



From her lone casement beams a ray 
That cheereth, till the dawn of day, 
The wanderer on his trackless way. 

Thro' the long watches of the night. 

Like vestal guarding sacred light, 

She trims that lamp, and keeps it bright. 

Oft, when the tempests wildly rave, 
She prays her beacon-flame may save 
Some voyager from a dismal grave. 

The Mighty Watcher hears her prayer, 
And many a storm-tossed bark doth spare 
To recompense her pious care. 

And thus, the varying season thro', 
Patient and tireless, firm and true. 
Her noble task will she pursue. 

She never hopes reward to claim ; 
She never looks for praise or fame : 
Her only wish, her only aim 

The welfare of her kind ! If e'er 

Earth boast a deed to heaven most dear, 

It is recorded here. 



108 



THE BEACON. 



The warrior, in his country's need, 
May boldly fight, and bravely bleed, 
And die — but glory is his meed ! 

The statesman, when he toils by 'day, 
Or vt^earsj in thought, the night away, 
Wins fame or fortune for his pay. 

All who enact the martyr's part 
Hide ever, in their secret heart. 
Some hope that well may strength impart. 

But here, a gentle one we see, 
Whose lonely life proclaims that she 
From every selfish hope is free, 

Doing a deed so good and great 
That angels, in their holy state, 
Might joyfully the tale relate. 

Oh ! may an act so like divine. 
Bright in the world's best annals shine, 
And live while rolling years decline. 

May it, for many a future day. 
Beam, like her own pure beacon ray, 
And guide the soul to virtue's way. 



DIRGE FOR A DEPARTING RACE. 



109 



DIRGE FOR A DEPARTING RACE. 

Amid the cheerful sounds that float 

Around our pleasant homes, 
An under-tone of sorrow's note. 

In mournful music comes. 

It lingers round each lofty mount, 

And o'er each verdant vale. 
Breathes soft in every murmuring fount, 

And sighs in every gale. 

Louder, within our forest shades, 

And o'er our boundless lakes, 
'Mid rushing winds and roaming floods. 

The mournful cadence wakes. 

Grand, high, and wild, the notes become 

In Nature's solitudes ; 
Where Art hath yet not found a home, 

And Science ne'er intrudes. 



no 



DIRGE FOR A DEPARTING RACE. 



'Tis Nature mourns ! — with tearful eye, 

Like weepers at a tomb, 
She sees her favorite children fly, 

And wails their wretched doom. 

She sorrows o'er the Red Man's fate, 

As, with a heavy heart, 
Depress'd, dishonor'd, desolate, 

He turns him to depart ! 

His valiant father's hallow'd tomb. 
His children's birth-place, too, 

His own wild sports and pleasant home, 
He bids them all adieu. 

Sad, exiled remnant of a race 
Once happy, free and brave — 

From all his boundless heritage, 
He only asks a grave ! 

Behind him lies — forever lost — 

The scenes forever dear ; 
And yet, such farewell doth not cost 

His stoic soul a tear. 



DIRGE FOR A DEPARTING RACE. 



Ill 



Before him lies his weary way 

On toward the setting sun : 
His home is left — his hope is lost— 

His pilgrimage begun. 

Mourn, Nature ! — aye, with ceaseless wail, 

Mourn for thy hapless child ; 
A requiem give in evory gale, 

A tomb in every wild. 

Let all thy lovely scenes around, 

His tragic history tell ; 
And all thy varied, changing sounds 

His funeral anthem swell. 




112 HYMN TO THE DEITY. 



HYMN TO THE DEITY. 

Thou Giver of all earthly good ; 

Thou wonder-working Power, 
Whose spirit smiles in every star, 

And breathes in every flower ; 
How gratefully we speak thy name ! 

How gladly own thy sway ! 
How thrillingly thy presence feel. 

When 'mid thy works we stray ? 

We may forget thee for a time. 

In scenes with tumult rife, 
Where worldly cares or pleasures claim 

Too large a share of life ; 
But not in Nature's sweet domain, 

Where every thing we see, 
From loftiest mount to lowliest flower, 

Is eloquent of Thee. 

Where waves lift up their tuneful voice, 
And solemn anthems chime ; 

Where winds through echoing forests peal 
Their melodies sublime ; 



HYMN TO THE DEITY. 113 



Where e'en insensate objects breathe 

Devotion's grateful lays, 
Man cannot choose but join the choir 

That hymns his Maker's praise. 

Beneath the city's gilded domes, 

In temples decked with care. 
Where Art and Splendor vie to make 

Thine earthly mansions fair ; 
Our forms may lowly bend, our lips 

May breathe a formal lay, 
The whilst our wayward hearts refuse 

These holy rites to pay. 

But in that grander temple, rear'd 

By thine Almighty hand. 
Where glorious beauty bids the mind's 

Diviner powers expand ; 
Our thoughts, like grateful vassals, give 

A homage glad and free ; 
Our souls in adoration bow, 

And mutely reverence Thee. 



15 



114 THE THREE HOMES. 



THE THREE HOMES. 

I HAD a home beside a gentle river 

Which flowed in murmuring music to the sea ; 
Bright beauty deck'd that early home, and ever 

Peace shed her rosy smiles o'er that and me. 
There Hope and Joy and fond Affection's 
glances 

Made, for my heart, the sunlight of its spring ; 
There wild romance, and visionary trances 

Around my soul did spells of witchery fling. 

I have a home where lovely flowers are flinging 
Their balmy breath on every passing breeze ; 
Where the wild warblers of the wood are 
singing 
Their tuneful songs, amid green waving trees. 
Here Love's fond smiles are o'er my pathway 
beaming — 
The guiding stars of Life's more stormy way ; 
They wake my spirit yet to heavenly dreaming, 
And half restore the bliss of youth's sweet 
day. 



YOUTH. 115 

There is a home 'mid busy pomp and pleasure, 

Luring me now to scenes and joys afar — 
Can the heart there preserve its tuneful mea- 
sure, 
Or will the world's rude touch its music mar ? 
Fain would I know — but doubt and dread have 
shrouded 
The coming days in misty garb of gloom : 
The Past was fair, the Present is unclouded ; 
Oh! may the Future wear their radiant 
bloom. 



YOUTH. 



Youth is the time for hope ; 

Then her sweet smile is ours, 
And then she decks life's thorny path 
With brightly blooming flowers ; 
Then the fair Syren sings of endless bliss. 
And points afar to happier worlds than this. 

Youth is the time for dreams, 
The blissful and the bright, 



116 YOUTH. 

When radiant thoughts around us beam 
And sport in fancy's light ; 
When shapes of heavenly mould arise 
And whisper legends of the skies. 

Youth is the time for love : 
'Tis then its magic spell 
Is cast around the captive heart 
That loves the fetters well ; 
Then rapturous feelings in the soul have birth, 
And give the hue of Paradise to Earth. 

Youth is the time for joy ; 

Then her fair smiling ray 
Lends its own brilliance to the world, 
And makes it bright and gay ; 
She paints all things with pencil dipp'd in light. 
And life appears a garden of delight. 



117 



STANZAS. 

When the roses of summer have lost their 

perfume, 
And the cold breath of Autumn has stolen 

their bloom, 
Oh ! mourn not their fate ; for when Spring 

comes once more, 
They will blossom as lovely and fair as before. 

But when Hope's bright and beautiful flowers 

decay, 
And the frost of Despair steals their fragrance 

away ; 
When they are all withered — then, then, ye 

may mourn ; 
For their bloom and their beauty will never 

return. 

When the day-god departs with his glorious 

light. 
And the world hides her charms in the mantle 

of night, j 



118 SONG. 

Oh ! let not the gloom and the darkness give 

pain; 
For the sun will return when the morn comes 

again. 

But when the bright sun-beams of rapture de- 
part, 

And the gloom of despondency steals o'er the 
heart, 

Bewail ye that gloom ; for thos sun-light will 
never 

Come back to the heart — it has vanished for 
ever! 



SONG. 



'Tis ofttimes said Love's magic dream 

Is dearest in life's early hours, 
When earth is lit by Rapture's beam. 

And Time speeds on o'er thomless flowers. 

Believe it not — ^those happy years 

May prove that dream all fond and true ; 



SONG. 119 

But darker days, of clouds and tears, 
Will robe it in a heavenly hue. 

Oh ! none save hearts long tried in wo 
Can feel Affection's power sublime ; 

And none but those can truly know 
How hallowed 'tis by change and time. 

'Tis sweet a loved one's smiles to share 

In the gay season of delight ; 
But sweeter far to soothe their care, 

And weep with them thro' sorrow's night. 

Love's early dream is like a flower 
Of balmiest breath, and brightest hue, 

Blooming in summer's radiant hour. 

And gemm'd with morning's pearly dew. 

But that sweet dream, in later days, 

Is like the holy star of even. 
Which points, with pure and perfect rays, 

To joys which have their source in Heaven. 



120 THEKLA AT HER LOVEr's GRAVE. 



THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE. 

" There is but one place in the world. 

Thither where he lies buried ! 

That single spot is the whole earth to me." 

Coleridge's "Wallenstein. 

In fairer, lovelier scenes, oh ! deem ye not 
That the deep anguish of my soul would 

cease. 
Nor hope in Earth's most bright and cheering 

spot, 
My aching heart could taste a moment's 

peace. 
Know ye, alas! that yonder church-yard's 

shade 
Is all my world — there my beloved is laid. 

Thither I haste — call it not place of death ; 

It is the only spot of life to me : 
There only can I draw tl*e vital breath ; 

And there my dwelling ever more shall be : 
On the cold sod that shrouds my loved one's clay, 
I'll watch and weep my weary life away. 



THEKLA AT HER LOVEr's GRAVE. 121 



Morn's rosy smile, and noontide's brighter ray, 
Evening's sweet hour of beauty, calmly fair, 
E'en the dark midnight, when pale shadows 
stray, 
Will come and pass, and still I shall be there ; 
Still will I seek no home, no place of rest. 
But the damp earth that shrouds my lov'd 
one's breast. 

I shall not watch alone, nor lonely weep ; 

For Nature's ministers will mourn with me ; 
Pale stars a kind and pitying watch will keep. 

And in the night-wind's tone a wail there'll 
be; 
E'en the sweet flowers that wave above his head 
Will sigh in mournful sadness round his bed. 

His spirit too, oh ! thought most deeply dear, 

Will leave its starry world of bliss, and come 

To whisper words of comfort in mine ear, 

And tell me tales of his bright, heavenly 

home. 

'Twere vain for even Death's all-conquering 

powers 
To sever souls so firmly link'd as ours. 

16 



122 



THE SOLDIER S WIFE. 



Then tell me not of scenes where bliss has birth, 
Where Nature smiles, in loveliest charms 
arrayed ; 

I know but one, one single spot of earth 
In the wide world — 'tis where his form is laid ; 

That spot shall be my dwelling till I die, 

And e'en in death, there by his side I'll lie. 



THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

On a lone battle-field, where a warrior was 

sleeping, 

Unconscious of all that was passing around. 

The wife of his bosom in anguish lay weeping ; 

Her roof the broad sky, and her bed the cold 

ground. 

Dark clouds lowered above her ; the heavens 
were scowling ; 
Fast beat the rude storm on the spot where 
she lay ; 



THE soldier's WIFE. 123 



And loudly the wild forestrdwellers were 
howling, 
As they snuffed on the night-breeze the 
blood of their prey. 

But she felt not the wind and the rain beating 
o'er her ; 
She heard not the wolves that were prowl- 
ing so near : 
With the loved of her soul in his life-blood be- 
fore her, 
What pang could she dread, or what harm 
could she fear ? 

She clasped the cold form to a heart that was 
breaking ; 
She press'd the pale lips that could greet her 
no more ; 
And she prayed for the slumber that knows no 
awaking, 
That the anguish and grief of hor soul might 
be o'er. 

She sought for repose where so oft she had 
found it, 



124 



CROWNING OF CORINNE. 



And pillow'd her head on that still bleeding 
breast ; 
Though darkness, and danger, and death were 
around it. 
She clung to it still, as a haven of rest I 

When the shadowy gloom of the night had 
departed, 
A sorrowful sight met the Morn's rosy eye : 
There the being so faithful, so fond, so true- 
hearted. 
In death, by the side of her soldier did lie. 



CROWNING OF CORINNE. 

Madam de Stael, in her work entitled " Corinne, or 
Italy," has embodied a description of the crowning of 
Corimie at the Capitol of Rome. The following lines 
were suggested by a perusal of her chaste and classic 
description of that event. 

I STOOD on holy ground — Rome's Capitol ! 
That consecrated spot, so fraught with power 
To fill the mind with classic images. 



CROWNING OF CORINNE. 125 



My thoughts were wandering back to those 

proud days 
When Rome's all-conquering heroes trod that 

hall 
And gazed upon the trophies they had won — 
The glorious spoils of subjugated worlds ! 
But this was not a time for memory 
To dwell upon the past ; for there arose 
A sound loud as the roaring of the mighty deep, 
And the voice of a vast multitude 
Did rend the air. The words •'* Long live Co- 

rinne" 
Fell on mine ear, as if a million tongues 
Breathed forth the feelings of a million hearts. 
For whom this triumph ? What mighty con- 
queror 
Comes to claim the crown, the meed of honor 
Romans gave to deck their champion's valor ? 
None made reply. The car moved on, and soon 
Beneath a high triumphal arch it paused 
Amid the pealing shouts of "Glory to Corinne." 
I look'd around on that imposing scene : 
There, in that spacious hall, the Senators 
Of Rome, a numerous throng of Priests 



126 



CROWNING OF CORINNE. 



And Cardinals, and the fair daughters 
Of that clime, were all assembled. 
Within the centre of that august crowd 
Was placed a chair of state, and near it stood 
A reverend Senator with crown of bays 
And myrtle in his hand. 

And for whose brow, 
Think you, was this design'd ? Not for a king's, 
Not for a patriot's, or a warrior's bold, 
But for a Woman's ! 

And now she comes amid the shouts 
Of " Glory to Corinne— Italia's Poetess !" 
" Glory to genius and to beauty !" 
Behold with what a queenlike step she treads 
That lofty hall : see how she smiles, 
Tho' tears of gratitude bedew her cheek, 
While on her brow is placed the fadeless wreath. 
That crown which Petrarch wore, which 

Tasso won ; 
Which circled Dante's head and deck'd the 

brow 
Of Ariosto ! that immortal crown 
Is placed upon a woman's gentle brow ; 
And never haughty king, or conqueiror. 



CROWNING OP CORINNE. 127 



Or statesman wise ; not even Italy's 
Impassioned bards were worthier 
Of the meed. 

She rises now, 
And with her lyre breathes forth such music- 
tones 
As charm the soul. She thanks her countrymen 
In strains so rich and glowing, that 
No pen can shadow forth its beauty. 
'Tis more than poetry ; a gush of feeling 
From a heart filled with the deepest gratitude 
To those who thus have honor'd her. 
She sings the praises of her native land ; 
That land which doth not keep 
A woman from the shrine, the glorious shrine 
Of Genius and of Poesy. 



128 



POESY. 

'Tis thine, sweet Poesy, to lure the soul, 

A willing slave, from Reason's sober ray ; 
And bid it wander, at thy soft control. 

Through Pleasure's paths or Fancy's flow- 
ery way. 
'Tis thine to weave a wild and witching spell, 

That chains the mind in fetters of delight, 
And leads it far in fairy worlds to dwell, 
'Mid blissful dreams and scenes of beauty 
bright. 
'Tis thine to scatter o'er life's changeful stream 
The fragrant flowers of Hope and Joy and 
Love ; 
To shed o'er cold Reality a beam 

Which lights and warms like summer sun 
above. 
And thine, oh, child of high and holy birth ! 
To deck with Eden hues the lowly things of 
earth. 



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